Gabriel's City

by Laylah Hunter

  “They weren’t the real problem, though,” Colin points out, leaving aside the way that Gabriel has taken on Colin’s enemies as his own. “Barron can always hire more, can’t he?”

  Gabriel nods. “He probably will. But they won’t know where to find you.” He meets Colin’s eyes, as clear and steady as he’s ever been. “They’ll be looking for a fancy boy in a fancy house, won’t they.”

  Colin’s stomach rolls over slowly, and the cold grows far sharper. “Yes,” he says. His voice cracks. He wants to go back to being a dragon.

  “So you’ll have them fooled. Well done.” Gabriel scrapes his plunder into a single pile of copper, and starts to put all the coins into one purse. “And that means we should celebrate.”

  “Do you know what happened to him?” Colin asks, though it’s probably a bad idea. “The boy, I mean.”

  Gabriel studies him for a minute, head cocked like a raven’s. “He got away.”

  Colin lets out a sigh of relief. “Really?”

  “Don’t know,” Gabriel says. “But you want him to have, so you might as well believe it.” He puts the last of his coins away with a clink of metal and tugs the purse’s strings shut. “When this lets up enough to walk in, we should go get some food. We could both have meat today.”

  The rain has settled in for a long stay, though, and doesn’t lighten in any sort of hurry; the toll of distant bells means that midday’s come and gone. They sit under the bridge like a pair of trolls themselves, and Colin tries to keep himself occupied thinking about things like whether trolls come in pairs, instead of things like whether the pickpocket escaped, or how Gabriel has managed not to fall prey to the fever when he doesn’t even have a proper coat.

  “Tell me a story,” Gabriel says at last. “To make the time pass.”

  Colin shifts, looking over at him. The interruption’s more welcome than he’d like to admit. “What kind of story?”

  “The story of the dragon who came to Casmile,” Gabriel suggests. Colin opens his mouth to protest, but Gabriel goes on, “Or if you still won’t tell me that one, then pick something else.” His voice sounds petulant and young, as though the clarity he had this morning is reaching its end, guttering out like a candle burned down to the nub.

  Colin takes a deep breath, trying to think back on the stories he used to beg for when he was little. He tells the story of how fox singed his tail white, which he heard from his nurse, who was imported from the islands. When he closes his eyes to remember it better, he catches himself repeating the words in her rhythms, her accent. He tells the story of the boy who played dice with the Fates, which he heard for the first time only a few years ago, and which he sometimes thinks Danny was making up to flatter him. Gabriel, in turn, tells the story of the Battle of Troll Bridge—in rather more detail than Colin might actually like—and then the story of the boy who wooed the moon, which Colin has never heard before. It sounds like a northlands tale, mixing everyday things with utter fantasy; Colin wonders if Deirdre told it to Gabriel, or if there are more barbarians in the south than he’d always believed.

  After that, it’s his turn again, but the surface of the river is still, the rain stopped. “We could go now,” Colin says. “Couldn’t we?”

  Gabriel boosts himself up immediately, like he’s just been waiting for the word. “We could. Let’s.”

  They’d need a change of clothes and a bath before they could get themselves served at any of the truly fancy places along the river, but they do find a tavern where they can order steaming, hearty portions of a chicken pie that leaves Colin feeling pleasantly sated. From the look on his face, Gabriel is just as content, though Colin’s not sure if that’s due to the food or to Colin’s enjoyment of it. He watches carefully, trying to figure out if the odd mood that took Gabriel under the bridge has passed yet; Gabriel’s madness feels like the rain, coming sometimes in sudden thunder and other times in slow, creeping mist.

  “Where shall we go next?” Gabriel asks, pushing the last bit of piecrust around his plate to sop up the gravy. “We have coin to spare. We could go see a show, if you’d like.”

  Likely that’s a sign of reason returning, an offer designed to appeal to the young lord Gabriel sometimes knows him for. Colin thinks of the theater on Kestrel Street where he and Danny went last spring, how outrageous it seemed at the time. No doubt Gabriel could suggest less wholesome places, where the Mother only knows what sort of barbarity happens both onstage and off. He’d rather not try his luck with something like that tonight, not when this morning’s show was so far from entertaining. Although if Gabriel is looking for some way to treat him, perhaps he does have an idea.

  “I’ll pass on the show for today, but if you know someplace where I could throw some dice, that wouldn’t go amiss.”

  “My dragon throws dice with the Fates?” Gabriel asks. He doesn’t wait for the answer that Colin is hesitant to give, just shrugs. “I can find some places, but I don’t know if they’re fancy enough for you.”

  Colin shakes his head. “I met Barron in a gaming house. Somewhere that isn’t expensive enough to catch his attention would actually be better.” Assuming they even have enough silver to play at the Peacock’s tables, which he doubts.

  Gabriel smiles broadly. “In that case, we should go down to the docks.”

  It’s harder than it should be to stay calm as they leave the tavern and head toward the harbor. Colin can feel the excitement humming just under his skin, the certainty of luck tingling in his fingertips. He’s had so many more pressing worries to deal with in the past week, there hasn’t been time to miss gaming.

  It’s gray dusk when they make it down to the harbor, a fitting end for a gray day, but the taverns spill golden light onto the streets, and the tide must be at an advantageous turn because there are ships moving out in the gloom. The two of them pass a few open doors before Gabriel finds their destination: a smoky little half-underground room full of rowdy people and the smell of burning herbs. There are three tables going, with a handful of players at each one, and spectators crowded behind them. One or two of them might be betting on the players at the far table, from the way coins are changing hands. Some of the watchers are clearly whores, too cheap for the licensed houses of Kite Street, here to make money off the luckier gamblers. Most of the whores are girls, but there are a few pretty boys who might be selling, too.

  Colin picks his way through the crowd, Gabriel following close at his heels, until he has a good vantage point to watch one of the tables and see how the action is moving.

  It’s a three-penny table, considerably lower stakes than the shilling tables Colin’s used to at the Quartermaster or the Peacock, but that suits his reduced funds just fine. The players mostly look like sailors, weathered and windburned, their hair cut short or tarred back where it’ll be out of the way. One of them is dark-skinned enough for Cabiral; another tips his dice-cup with a hand that’s missing its last finger; another is a woman with a sharp, barking laugh and a crooked smile. Colin watches them play for a few rounds, studying the players’ styles.

  A girl comes around in the employ of the house, offering pipe tobacco blends, lumps of opium resin, and small bottles of liquor. Colin doesn’t have his pipe with him, and he doesn’t like the way Gabriel’s lip curls at the resin, so he buys them a bottle to share instead. It turns out to be rum, cheap and harsh, burning as it slides down his throat. He swallows with a grimace and passes the bottle to Gabriel.

  “You like it here?” Gabriel asks when he’s had a long pull of the rum himself.

  Colin nods. He has to lean close to make himself heard over the noise of boasting and laughter from the tables. “It looks like a good time.” Gabriel’s fingers brush his when handing back the bottle, and a little shiver thrills up his arm. Gaming always makes him restless, makes him daring, so he hears himself say, “You’ll be my luck, won’t you?” before he’s realized just what a horrible idea that is.

  Gabriel laughs. “I’d be honored, Drake.” He
reaches into his pockets and comes up with a few rounds’ worth of copper that he presses into Colin’s hand. “Play well.”

  “Thank you.” Colin takes another drink of the rum for the sake of his nerves. He’ll have to play well, if he’s doing it with Gabriel’s money.

  But he thinks he can read this table decently from watching the last few rounds. The Cabirile man plays cautiously and challenges early; the woman is reckless, raising the bid even when chance is set against her; the man with the missing finger plays viciously, goading his fellows on and challenging as soon as someone’s overbalanced and ready to fall. The last two players are floundering, their patterns not nearly so clear, and Colin’s glad when it’s one of them who concedes defeat and gets up from the table.

  “I’ll take that seat,” Colin offers, passing Gabriel the rum so he’ll have his hands free. Across the table, another sailor who looked interested shrugs and gestures for him to go ahead. Colin slides into the chair and sweeps the dice in front of him into the cup, tossing his pennies into the ante in the middle of the table.

  “Go on, handsome,” the woman tells him as the others take up their cups to roll their dice. “Take the first bid.”

  Colin turns his cup onto the table. “Gladly.” He tips it back so he can see his hand. Three, three, four, two, six. “Seven threes,” he says.

  “Six fours,” the woman raises immediately, and the game is on. Play happens fast, almost pure chaos, with no fixed order to the bets, and the rattling dice and jingling coins have Colin giddy in no time. The rum’s nothing to this rush. He takes two rounds in the first dozen, one on a challenge and one on a very lucky bet for a dozen fours, and by then he thinks he’s starting to really know how to play this table.

  He takes the next round, even, calling ten fives when he has a pair and an ace himself. And then, somehow, it all starts to go wrong. He loses the next ten rounds in a row, even when it seems like his challenge is completely reasonable. Gabriel’s hand comes to rest on his back, either a reassurance or a warning, as the players turn their cups for the next round. Colin’s lost all he’s made now, and he’s running out of the money that Gabriel gave him. His stomach tightens with nerves.

  Five threes, the bidding goes. Seven threes, seven fours. Six fives. “Eight fives,” Colin says. It’s still a fairly safe bid, with five players at the table.

  The man with the missing finger immediately tips his cup. “Call.”

  Gabriel’s hand tightens in Colin’s shirt. “You’re cheating,” he says loudly, as the other players start to reveal their hands.

  Quiet ripples out from their table, and the pop and hiss of the fire is suddenly audible. Gabriel isn’t deterred at all. “You turned two of your dice just now.”

  “That’s an ugly lie,” the man says. He pushes his chair back from the table, stares at Colin in challenge. “You here to game, or to fight?”

  “The boy who played dice with the Fates, Drake,” Gabriel says. He takes his hand off Colin’s back, which means he’s readying himself to fight. “Did he win?”

  Colin reaches into his pocket and finds the heavy, solid weight of brass. He knows how this ought to go in a tale. “Yes, Gabriel.” He can see a few people tense at the name, and the thrill that runs down his spine is every bit as good as throwing a winning hand. “He did.” He has just enough time to draw another breath, and it feels like the whole room does it with him, before they all explode into movement.

  The cheater tries to come over the table at him, so Colin braces his hands under the table and shoves it upwards as he stands. Dice and coins scatter, and space clears around them. Someone swings a wide punch at him, and Colin raises an arm to deflect it, stepping in closer and driving straight, knocking the wind from the man so he can shove him back into his friend. All those hours sparring in the practice salon keep paying off, despite how he resented them at the time. Behind him, Gabriel laughs as glass shatters. They can take this room, he thinks, grinning, staggering when someone careens into him.

  It isn’t them against the room, though, not really. People turn on each other like they’ve just been waiting for an excuse, like this is the game they were here for, and it’s a blind free-for-all within moments. Even some of the whores get involved—Colin sees a girl break a bottle over the head of her would-be customer. People are grabbing whatever loose coin they can and running with it. Somebody elbows Colin in the ribs, and he lashes out without seeing what he hits. Gabriel appears on the other side of the room for a moment, driving his heel into the kneecap of someone who’s trying to grab him, and then the chaos swallows him up again. A moment later, someone hits Colin in the face as he’s punching someone else, and splotches of bright gold cloud his vision. His head spins. Then there’s a thick, muscular arm around his throat and a deep, growling voice yelling at him to get out. He’s dragged backward up the stairs and shoved out the door into the chill of the evening.

  He’s just been thrown out of a gaming house for starting a brawl. Colin bursts out laughing, and hasn’t yet stopped when Gabriel stumbles after him.

  “Have fun?” Gabriel asks, slurring a little from the bloody split in his lip.

  Colin grins. His left eye is already swelling, tender, and his hair is falling in his face; he must have lost Gabriel’s hat in the fight. “Yeah,” he says, a bit to his own surprise. “I did.”

  The door opens again as the house’s muscle throws out the woman from Colin’s table, who’s cursing in a language Colin doesn’t know, and then the cheater, who’s bleeding from a gash in his forehead. The cheater glares at the two of them like he’s thinking of trying his luck out here. Colin, still drunk on the fight, bares his teeth and growls. The cheater spits, and turns away from them to limp off up the street.

  Gabriel laughs, and that makes Colin feel warmer than the rum or the fight. A minute later he sobers, though, remembering the circumstances they’re left in as a chill wind sweeps up the street from the harbor. “I’m sorry. For losing your money.”

  “Don’t worry about the money, Drake.” Gabriel lays a hand on Colin’s shoulder carefully, as though he’s not sure how it’s done. “Money’s not so special. We can get more.”

  Not easily, Colin almost says. Not without risking our lives. But Gabriel’s luck is a strange thing that knows no proper laws, so perhaps that’s enough. He leans into Gabriel’s hand and smiles. “Yeah,” he says again. “I guess we can.”

  The next day, they return to the room after supper—Colin almost, when he’s not careful, thinks of it as their room, like he almost thinks of himself as Drake—and find it already occupied.

  “What do you want, Jack?” Gabriel asks flatly, staring at the man in the middle instead of the obvious hired muscle on either side of him. Jack is better dressed than Gabriel, but his face still has the pinched look that Colin is coming to associate with Casmile’s lowest classes, the look like he’s always at least a little bit hungry.

  “You’re three weeks late with the rent,” Jack says. He looks up from studying the dirt under his nails. “Again.”

  “It’s been a bad month.” Gabriel shrugs. “I’ll get you your money. I always do.” His stance is still casual, but his voice has taken on the too-smooth tone it had the night they went to see Morgan.

  Jack shakes his head. “I’ve been very patient with you.” He smirks at Colin. “Maybe you should put your boy on the corner, if you’re having that much trouble coming up with coin.”

  Colin tenses, but Gabriel’s low growl makes him pause. They haven’t killed anyone in days, and he sort of likes it that way. He particularly likes the idea that they haven’t killed anyone where they sleep. If Gabriel starts moving, somebody is going to die here. It might not even be Jack’s thugs, who look like serious, well-armed trouble.

  “Gabriel, not here,” Colin says gently. Gabriel makes another half-restrained snarling noise, like a hound on a leash, and Colin glares at Jack. “What do we owe on the room?”

  The way Jack’s lip curls makes Colin wa
nt to hit him, too—it’s far too knowing, too lewd, the assumptions he’s made about them plain on his face. “Eight. For the last month.”

  Colin’s down to twelve shillings and change, after all the meals he’s bought for the two of them. “I can give you four,” he offers. He’s seen how these bargaining games go. “But that’s all I have. You’ll need to give us a little time to come up with more.”

  “I’ll need to, will I?” Jack raises an eyebrow, addressing Gabriel instead of Colin. “Your boy’s got quite a mouth on him. Could get him in trouble one day.”

  Colin bristles, seething at the way Jack treats him like he can’t vouch for himself.

  “Not everyone prefers the company of whipped dogs,” Gabriel says mildly. “You’ll need to give us more time.”

  Jack’s thugs tense, like they can feel the charge in the air and the way Gabriel is readying himself to spring. Jack laughs harshly, forcing the sound, his teeth bared in a poor imitation of a smile. “You’ll need to hand over that four now, then. And I’ll be back at the end of the week for the rest.”

  Gabriel nods graciously, another one of those exaggerated gestures he probably picked up in a cheap theater. “Give the dog his bone, Drake.” He’s toying with them now, Colin thinks as he reaches for his money. “Red Emma seeing visitors this week?”

  “Could be. I make my living like an honest man, wouldn’t know about her trade.” Jack holds out a grubby hand for Colin’s coins.

  “Have to go see her tomorrow,” Gabriel says thoughtfully. “We’ll get your money for you.”

  “Vulture,” Jack says, but he pockets the money and steps past them, toward the door. For a moment, Colin expects Gabriel to lash out and sink a knife into Jack’s unprotected back, but it doesn't happen, and the tension ebbs as Jack and his thugs leave.

  Gabriel drops easily onto his bed, rolls over, and arches his back, stretching like a cat. His shirt rides up just far enough to expose a narrow stripe of skin above the waistband of his trousers, and Colin looks away. He’s been doing pretty well since that first morning at ignoring Gabriel's physical presence, but now he’s thinking again about what this looks like—what it likely would be with someone less touched than Gabriel. They share the one mattress, lying back-to-back under the blankets, and though Colin hasn’t woken with Gabriel pinning him since that first time, he’s suddenly aware of how easily it could happen again. He can’t decide whether there’s enough of a thrill to the idea to offset how terrifying it would be. Especially since he can’t picture Gabriel spreading his legs for anyone, and he’d never planned on doing it himself.